Secret
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: "He had to admit, if anyone really knew about the nature of their relationship, the scandal would drive him out of London for good." One-shot, because I needed some Bert and Mary.


**So, this is just something that found its way into my head. It was inspired by another fanfic I read years ago, and a line I randomly used in one of my other stories. It was something to the effect of, "she wondered if Mary had ever let Bert hike up her petticoats in one of his perfect drawings." I was also inspired to do something that didn't have Mary and Bert rushing off to get married. So, enjoy. :-)**

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**Secret**

He had to admit, if anyone really knew about the nature of their relationship, the scandal would drive him out of London for good. Bert was quite sure, however, that if someone found out, Mary would simply lift her chin and deny everything. She would never admit to what went on every other Tuesday evening and sometimes on drowsy afternoons in his sidewalk paintings. But things did go on, and Bert clearly remembered the first time.

He and Mary had leapt into a drawing he'd been particularly proud of. It was a forest, drawn with great flourish in so many hues of green and gold. When it came to life, the sun was impossibly warm and the trees created cool, dappled shade. They'd walked for some time, and Bert had wondered if she might be leaving soon. She didn't have children with her, which usually hinted at the end of an assignment. She didn't seem quite as pensive as she usually did before she left, however.

After they'd walked and talked for some time, Mary stopped in a clearing. Looking around, she'd muttered something about being famished and snapped her fingers. To Bert's surprise, she'd conjured up a picnic. He was delighted, because she usually had to be convinced even to have tea with him, let alone a meal. He thought it might have something to do with not wanting him to think she had such common needs as food and drink. Yet, that day, they'd eaten together. They lounged on a blanket and ate strawberries that seemed to taste even sweeter, having come from magic. Then, as nonchalantly as ever, Mary had removed her hat and gloves. Tossing them away, she'd suddenly closed the space between them. Without a word of explanation, she'd kissed him.

After a long moment, Bert had pulled back, very unsure as to what was happening. She had refused to offer any explanation, however. She'd simply kissed him until they were both flushed and then made it very clear their relationship would no longer be chaste. And Bert had never imagined that Mary Poppins would be so forward. That day, she had undone just as many buttons on his shirt as she wanted, and she'd let him hike up her petticoats only as far as suited her. Bert had made love to her, but he felt the entire time as though the whole situation was under her command. He also noticed that, although he'd felt wildly out of control in the moment, she didn't so much as lose a hairpin. Even when she'd arched her head back and bit her lip in climax, she'd stayed demure and quiet. And when it was over, she'd quickly straightened herself and snapped away the picnic. Kissing him one more time, she'd looked at him and he had the feeling she'd gotten exactly what _she_ wanted, rather than giving in to his obvious longings.

From that day on, their every other Tuesday meetings took place in Bert's tiny flat. On those evenings, he fought a losing battle not to let his neighbors hear through the thin walls what Mary did to him. She was all buttoned-up poise until the door closed behind them. Then, she would undue his trousers with her back still against the door, or kiss him so crazy that he took her on his tiny kitchen counter. There was nothing conventional in her lovemaking. As polished and perfect as she was at every other moment of her life, she was unbridled and downright insatiable with Bert. And he savored every moment with her. He began to draw ever more secluded places for them to leap into on the rare occasion that she was in the park alone.

He thought things might eventually start to cool between them, but each encounter proved him wrong. They made love in every landscape he could imagine and every corner of his flat. And often, when he was buried inside of her and trying everything he could to make her bite her lip in ecstasy, Bert would realize he was having it off with Mary Poppins, the practically perfect nanny. Not that it wasn't entirely personal to him. But he was also a young man, and as much as he respected her, it was something of a rush to know that he got to see her this way. She was so powerful, so confident, and so without spot or blemish, that it thrilled him to know that he could reduce her to trembling. It was like a beautiful, secret treasure when she whispered in his ear that she wanted him. To everyone else, Mary Poppins was pure as driven snow, and Bert loved to tease her at the times when she had to maintain that image. He loved knowing her as no one else did.

Occasionally, he wondered if there was anyone else, if there had ever been anyone else. He tried to ask her once, but she refused to explain herself. She had given him a sly smile and stated that Mary Poppins did as she pleased. That had shocked Bert a little, but then he wondered why he'd thought she would be any other way. He wondered why he'd imagined that this woman who was so infuriatingly confident, maddeningly calm, and so very tricky, would be any other way in her sexuality. Then, as much as it puffed him up to have her at his mercy, Bert also felt tenderness toward her he thought might be dangerous.

He never pressed the issue of exclusivity. But sometimes, when things felt more sentimental, he took his time and looked deep into her dark blue eyes as he made love to her. He thought he saw a yearning that went beyond the tension in their bodies, but he couldn't be sure. He was never sure. That was what made their relationship so heart-wrenchingly wonderful. She ravished him constantly, as though she couldn't be satisfied, and he loved her blindly. Bert loved her because he held her greatest secret. _He_ was her greatest secret. And he hoped, more than anything in the world, that he was the only one. He could do without marriage or children or gushy commitments. He knew Mary would most likely never give him sentiment. But he hoped, with his whole heart, that she didn't bite her lip for anyone but him.


End file.
